Monday, July 30, 2012

I love watching the Olympics, don't you? The feats of these athletes amaze me.

I wish they had some video clips of older games. I'd especially love to see Jim Thorpe in action. One sportswriter said, "He moved like a breeze." As one of the Native Americans who attended the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, you'd think our local newspapers would have mentioned his incredible accomplishments in their recent highlight of past Olympics, but Thorpe is often overlooked.

His athletic prowess was discovered accidentally when he broke the school record for the high jump on a whim, while wearing overalls and a work shirt.

He played football, baseball, track and lacrosse, and
also competed in hockey, handball, tennis, boxing and ballroom dancing. His coach signed him up for multiple events at competitions, and he once won a dual meet against Lafayette, taking
first in the high hurdles, low hurdles, high jump, long jump, shot put
and discus throw.

Before the Eastern Olympic trials in 1912, he'd never thrown a javelin and didn't know he could take a running start, throwing from a standstill. He still took second place.

At the Stockholm games in 1912, his 11.2-second record in the 100 meter dash remained unbroken until 1948.

In the now-defunct pentathlon, Thorpe placed first in four of the five events, which took place in a single day.

After two days of competing in nine other events, Thorpe blew away his competition in the last event, the 1500 meter run - wearing mismatched shoes. His 4 minute, 40.1 second record remained broken until 1972.

His overall Olympic score remained unbroken for four more Olympic games. Yet in 1912 the IOC stripped him of his medals "for violating the elitist Victorian codes of amateurism." The IOC sent two replica medals in 1982 to his family but failed to reinstate his incredible record at the 1912 games.

Following the Olympics, Thorpe returned to Carlisle to lead the school football team to Ivy League-level victories. The Smithsonian article explains it all, and asks why it took a letter-writing campaign for Thorpe's image to finally appear on the Wheaties box in 2001.

He went on to play football professionally, and is recognized by the Football Hall of Fame.

Thorpe is one of the most famous Native Americans who attended the Carlisle Indian Industrial School. I hadn't researched him while writing Follow the Stars Home because I focused on the school's opening decades earlier. While my characters are fictional, the events were all too real. Thorpe's story is just one of many dealing with triumph over brutal conditions.

I only hope the IOC will recognize their error in not giving this amazing athlete his Olympic due.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Much as I love writing ebooks, I
have to admit – the digital world’s hard to navigate through at times. I get
overwhelmed by the deluge of email, the dizzying number of sites to visit, and
yes, even the avalanche of ebooks. My kindle now holds more than 320 ebooks,
and the simple act of scrolling through the pages of titles takes more time
than I care to spend.

The vehemence of Kindle boards against
hard-working authors keeps me away entirely. It’s entirely too easy for anyone
these days to spew hurtful words, and Facebook is becoming a real turn-off for
not only this reason, but now that it’s limiting other people’s views of your
posts and offering to sell you a deal for all the people who used to be able to
see your posts to be able to see one – once only, unless you’re willing to shell
out the $5.00 fee on an unlimited basis.

The tools that sites put up for
readers to use have been made meaningless, sometimes by other authors
attempting to demean works I suppose in order to make theirs more attractive
(kind of a crazy notion, don’t you think? but it happens) and recently, an
author said pirates have been leaving one-star, terrible reviews for her work.
Why? If they want unscrupulous people to download from their sites, why make
that book less than desirable? I can’t fathom much of the thinking behind these
practices.

I suppose I’m old-fashioned
sometimes. I don’t like being digitally connected 24/7, and I have a hard
enough time without the Internet rewiring my brain, as this article claims. And this Newsweek article is even scarier, with evidence some people are actually suffering new forms of mental illness as a result.

If I ever leaned toward obsessive
compulsiveness, it’s with checking email. And Facebook. And blogs. And about a
dozen other sites. I get caught in a loop of circling from one to the other. It’s
a frustrating cycle.

Not to mention that I could probably construct a web page faster than my computer can load them these days. Blogger has updated again, but this version doesn't "like" Firefox (the browser I use, of course) so error messages abound. Gotta love technology.

Don’t get me wrong, I love
convenience of the Internet. Doing research is so easy using Google, but it’s not the
same as, say, visiting a foreign place to absorb all its newness through your
senses. But I honestly believe my brain’s already deficient, because I can’t
use Twitter. Yes, I know how it works in theory, but when I try to actually use
it, it’s instant overload and my brain shuts down.

It makes me sad to think, too, that
future readers won’t know the joy of buying old books. I don’t mean used books,
I mean old as in 50 or 100 years old. I suppose I’m a dweeb, but when I found a
copy of Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad from 1906, I had to have it, and still get
excited when I open it and think he might have actually touched it, too (it’s
from a Connecticut library).

Several other antique books sit on
my top shelf, out of reach of little hands. In large boxes I’ve never unpacked
since we moved six years ago, all the LPs of my youth are crammed together,
probably too warped to ever play again, but I can’t get rid of them. I love
them. Some are rare, including The Beatles Rarities, and a white vinyl White
Album. I have yet to switch to digital music, though I suppose it’s inevitable
at some point.

Maybe I’m just upset I couldn’t
write this weekend. As many times as I sat down at the laptop, I got up again.
I had “monkey mind,” as Natalie Goldberg (and Buddhists) call it, and my thoughts were
swinging from neuron to neuron, screeching with laughter at my attempts to lure
them down.

Maybe it was just one of those
weekends. Sometimes, I can tear up the keyboard from Friday night through
Sunday night and rack up a word count of 12k or so. This wasn’t one of those
weekends. But there will be others. That monkey's going down.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Death Is A Bitch has a release date! Get ready for her, because Death is coming on Aug. 3 - with gold stilettos on. Woot! I can't wait.

Here's the updated blurb:

Eternity can suck when it’s all
work, work, work. Death harvests souls even when they stack up faster than pancakes
in an all-you-can-eat-buffet. No wonder she can’t shed the Grim Reaper rep.

As the patron angel of death and
dying, Azrael works closely with Death but is dying for true intimacy. She’s
the only immortal who’s ever aroused such powerful emotions in him. One taste
of her leaves him needing her like humans need air and food, but will a demon’s
lies leave a bad taste?

No
one escapes Death – except King Sisyphus. Twice. With the help of Damien the
demon, Sisyphus tries again, and she’s determined to have justice. Some say Death’s
a bitch, but only when she has to be. But will the price of justice be a broken
heart?

And an excerpt:

Death stepped from the shadowy
curtain of night along a deserted stretch of road toward the mangled hunk of
cherry-red metal that used to be a sweet Z240 sports car. Stardust glinted in
the black hair that dipped to her waist.

She kept a safe distance from the
wreck. Inside, a thirtyish man slumped behind the wheel, the air bag deflating
away from his near-lifeless body. Blood oozed from a nasty gash to his head.
Should have worn his seat belt. Too late for life lessons, though. Those
weren’t her expertise anyway. Just the opposite.

Leaves crackled in the underbrush
beyond the nearby trees. Death gripped the silver charm bracelet on her wrist,
her senses on high alert. Her finger poised near the hidden latch, ready to
release a stream of lightning.

A deer. It stilled, its wide eyes
fixed on her.

Seeing nothing else, she continued
with a modicum of caution. Taking souls didn’t exactly make her popular, and
after so many millennia, she should’ve been used to it. The bad jokes. The
Halloween parodies. A scythe? Please. She’d never used cheap props. Only the
finest weaponry. No mortal ever suspected the intricately designed baubles
adorning her bracelet were anything more than ornamental.

Moonlight gleamed off the curves of
the sports car, and she ran a gilded nail along its hood. She wouldn’t mind
taking one of these babies for a spin. In its former condition, of course,
before this guy took the curve too fast and wrapped it around a tree. Humans
always rushed everywhere, sometimes straight into her arms.

The man’s moan signaled she had no
need for weapons. This one would give her no trouble. She fingered his blond
hair, matted with blood. What a shame. So young, and so handsome. He’d leave at
least one lover grieving, no doubt.

His eyes fluttered open. When he
looked up, recognition intensified the flicker of life in his eyes.

She needed no introduction. They
always knew her, unmistakable in the glimmering black filament gown, its folds
revealing a glimpse into infinity.

The stilettos usually earned a
second glance, the four-inch heels glistening like fool’s gold. The butterfly
tattoo spanning her upper arm likewise drew curious looks, which inevitably
changed to horror when the souls recognized the face imprinted within that
colorful ink: their own.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

TBR's having two blurb fests again this month - first up this weekend is the Crime Fiction blurb fest for any stories involving - you guessed it - crime. :)

July 28-29 will be the Military/Espionage Fiction blurb fest.

If you know authors who write in these genres, please encourage them to share their blurbs, gain a little extra exposure, and hopefully some new fans.

Blog vacation

Not
much is going on right now. Unless I receive a release date for my dark
paranormal, Death is a Bitch, I likely will be taking a two-week blog
vacation. I'm hoping to catch up on some writing, and some reading! Look for the next post on Saturday, July 28. Mark your calendar - it will be Halloween in July! Mwahahaha. :)

Do you have any getaway plans for the summer? Whatever you do, I hope you have a great time.

Friday, July 13, 2012

TRR is giving away tons of prizes all month long, so be sure to check back every day for new giveaways!

Here's the story blurb:

All
wrong? That’s what Sara Mullaney’s parents always said about Ravelo Pena. She’s
starting to believe it. After dumping her years ago, he’s back in town. And
threatening to ruin her business plan designed to help local farmers. When he’s
fired for trying to help her, she realizes he’s still the same old Rav. And
she’s finding it hard to keep her hands off him. Can the right amount of wrong
make the perfect combination?

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

I spent a lot of time searching for the right cover images, and found two that contained the images I wanted and, I thought, would have the right feel. I then spent a lot of time trying to combine them, which turned out like this:

It had the right theme - the ship in a stormy sea, and the couple seeming to be overwhelmed by the waters. But even though I'd invested time and money in the cover, it didn't feel right to me.

So, back to Dreamstime I went. And I decided to change the cover to this:

This image conveys such yearning. I love it. It's much simpler, and cleaner. I thought about adding a tall ship on the horizon to indicate it's a historical, but I like that he's looking out at an empty sea. Though wreckers in 1850s Key West often searched the horizon for ships in distress, this image suggests he's not sure what -- or who -- he's looking for, but is determined to find it (or her?).

And yes, there's the beefcake aspect. :) But while that might (hopefully) attract a reader's eye, it's secondary to me.

Monday, July 9, 2012

If you're not familiar with Casting Call, it's my blog series where I show you who I imagined in the major roles while I wrote each story. You can find more under the Blog Series tab, beneath the Casting Call heading.

Normally, I imagine my stories as movies in my head. As usual, the characters of In the Midnight Hour played their parts very vividly.

Josie's my flawed heroine - the daughter of divorced parents, who themselves are flawed. As a teen, Josie strikes out on her own because she has a better chance away from her mother.

Since she was young, Josie's seen ghosts, a fact she learns to keep to herself after alienating friends and coworkers. She sees some of the ghosts so often, she considers some as friends, but it makes for a lonely existence. She doesn't quite know where she fits in the world until she signs up as a ghost tour guide in Gettysburg. After that, things begin to click into place, though some things, not for the better.

Before I began a first draft, Pauley Perrette was Josie, from her Goth look to her scratchy voice to her tattoos.

Eddie is Josie's roommate - with benefits. In the beginning, she felt sorry for him, so took him in. But he hasn't gone job hunting in months, and while Josie's working two jobs, he does nothing but play video games. Josie's ready to move on, and out, without Eddie. He's not so ready.

Matt Dillon's played down-and-out characters convincingly before, and would be perfect as Eddie.

Nicholas Whitby tags along during Josie's ghost tours. He's adorable but a bit odd, something Josie can relate to. At first, because he wears a Union soldier's uniform, she thinks he's a Civil War reenactor. Later, she finds out he's no actor.

James McAvoy was always Nick in my movie version.

Garrett signed on as a ghost tour guide after Josie. Somewhat of a mystery, he doesn't give much away about himself, but Josie senses his attraction to her. She keeps him at arm's length until she realizes he, too, can see ghosts. It's not often she runs into someone to whom she can speak openly about spirits, but Garrett's easy to talk to. Until he says Nick's a threat to Josie. Garrett has secrets of his own.

Christian Kane was always Garrett in my head.

Bonus! Turns out Garrett's one of triplets.

His brother Theo is more business-like, so this pic fits him.

Zane is much more easy-going, with shorter hair.

I'll take three of Christian Kane anyday. :)

Sue is another ghost tour guide, and another good friend who takes Josie in when she abandons Eddie.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Wow, what a great blog hop! You guys were fantastic, so fantastic that I've decided since I have two 1NS ebooks, I'll give away two instead of one. :)

Congrats to:

Shadow Kohler

Jenn JLK Mass

I'll email you today - just let me know which book you'd like, and in which format. Happy reading!

Best of luck to everyone in the grand prize drawing!

And thanks again to Jessica Subject for all her hard work on this blog hop. It wouldn't have happened otherwise!

(original post)
Thanks to Jessica E. Subject for organizing this fantastic blog hop! The grand prize is a Kindle Touch, and a second-place giveaway of a gift certificate. Coffee Time Romance is contributing a third prize for U.S. visitors - books, swag and other goodies!

If the code below doesn't show (it didn't in preview), then visit the 1NS Blog Hop site to hop to all the 30 blogs of participating authors. The more you comment, the better your chances at winning some great prizes!

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

I should start another support group for writers like me, who can't stop revising. I go through multiple revisions before sending work to crit partners, and afterward, at least another two or three rounds. But I never feel like a story's completely finished. Even after subbing it, I can't help revising again.

I have so many other projects I want to work on, but constant revisions slow me down.

I actually just pulled a sub - one I was invited to submit - because the story didn't feel complete, and the sub call limited the word count to 15k. In the end, I don't think I'll regret it, though I had the feeling it was a slam dunk. *sigh*

Does anyone else have this problem? Or am I taking perfectionism too far?

Thanks to Alex J. Cavanaugh for launching the Insecure Writers Support Group! Hop on over to the other authors' posts. It's wonderful to lend support to fellow authors.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Buried
things have a bad habit of resurfacing, often when Josie least wants to deal
with them. Nothing like a dead person to lend perspective to her miserable
life.

When
she signs on as a ghost tour guide in Gettysburg, Josie gets a fresh glimpse at
the spirit world. Civil War soldier Nicholas Whitby is more real, and more
attentive, than any living guy she knows.

Until
Garrett joins the tour company. He warns her against Nick, who plans to destroy
The Gate between worlds on Halloween.

Josie’s
torn between the sweet Nick she knows, and the fear growing with each nasty
encounter with Gettysburg’s ghosts. Just when she’s finally learned to feel
comfortable in her tattooed skin, she must divine the truth. Will trusting a
dead man unleash a legion of vicious spirits upon the earth?

Trick
or treat never held such deadly consequences. Will Gettysburg become a ghost
town for real?

Or
crying – like now. Shush, a woman whispered. It’s
probably Hattie with our papers. Josie knew exactly where it came from. The
plaque by the tiny attic door in the center of the stairs explained to patrons
that the Underground Railroad used to hide slaves in that cramped space. From
the sound of it, a mother and daughter still waited. Still in terror of being
discovered, poor things.

“Doors
slam in one of my houses,” Terry said. “Or jam for no reason, then open without
warning.”

Brett
shifted in his seat. “I’ve seen a soldier in uniform, always near the same
tree.”

In
uniform? Josie sat straight. “Don’t you think it’s probably a reenactor playing
a gag?”

“Reenactors
don’t play gags,” Terry said. “They’re too serious about everything being
accurate and getting the facts straight. I used to date one. He yelled at me
for sewing on a button that looked too modern.”

Josie
winced. “I met a guy like that. He keeps correcting my spiel, as if anyone else
would know the difference.”

“What’d
he look like?” Brett asked.

“Brown
hair, wavy, to his collar. Brown eyes, thin and wiry. He must work out though,
because he’s all muscle. And hot.” Josie couldn’t help but smile, thinking of
him.

“Did
you get his name?” Terry asked.

Josie
snorted. “Said his name was Nicholas Whitby. Like the headstone on my cemetery
stop.”

The
other guides exchanged surprised glances.

“What?”
she asked. “He’s nice, I know I should report him, but I kind of like having
him follow my group. I want to ask him out one of these nights.”

Terry
glanced at Brett. “Isn’t that—”

Brett
jabbed an elbow into hers. “You talked to him?”

“Course,”
Josie said. “That’s our gig, talking to people.”

They
fell silent. Too serious.

A chill
swept over her, then she laughed. “Very funny. I see what you’re doing, but
forget it. You can’t spook me. He kissed me.”

Terry’s
mouth gaped. “He actually kissed you?”

“The
best kiss of my life. Believe me, he is absolutely flesh and blood.” After
shelling out her share of cash for the pitcher of beer, Josie said good night.
She headed toward the women’s rest room, but veered to the stairs instead.
Halfway up, she stopped at the small attic door and knocked. Cold blasted her
face.

She
waited until the cold dissipated, and couldn’t stop grinning as she left the
bar and walked down the street to her car. Sometimes weirdness had its rewards.

And its
downside. An inky shadow formed into the shape of a tall man with a flat,
wide-brimmed hat. She gulped hard when a second Shadow Man coalesced behind it.
Both moved toward her.

“Stay
away from me.” Why had she parked so far from the bar? Her Jeep looked so far
away.

Someone
grabbed her arm and pulled her into a dark alley.

She
yelped, her heart pounded until she saw it was him. She clutched his coat.
“Where did you go? You left me.” And how did he dry his clothes so fast? Logic
screamed at her it wasn’t possible, and her ghost-sensing hackles bristled. But
how could he be a spirit, when solid flesh filled the sleeves she held? And his
mouth…

He
looked pleased at her distress. “I’m back now.”

No
mistaking the oo baby tone, rapper-slick. So casual. Usually what she preferred
– no strings. No questions. Somehow it felt wrong with him. “I’m beginning to
feel like a hit and run victim.”

Except
the Shadow People had disappeared. The second time they’d vanished when Nick
appeared.